


Autumn Dates

by darkness_prince_dan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4783073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkness_prince_dan/pseuds/darkness_prince_dan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil watches over the world at night tormented by his inability to write a masterpiece and instead creating stories about strangers. Dan’s one of the latter but only for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn Dates

Autumn comes into the city unnoticed, shoving the summer aside forcefully and taking over the throne instantly. Suddenly summer’s just a fleeting memory, a sweet aftertaste, a thought at the back of your mind, fluffy and cheerful. Now autumn’s the reality. It bursts in colour unexpectedly, tasting of chocolate and apples and cinnamon, washing over you the scents of burning wood and rain, resounding thunder in the distance and howling wind through trees, pricking at skin with its icy touch. Has the summer even happened? Have the sunsets ever smelt warm and not sharp? Has the wind always been this harsh? Was it all an illusion, a daydream you’re still clinging onto, not quite yet believing the change?

It seems to be a night like many others before, however, now it’s chilly to sit outside in nothing but a t-shirt and pants. The tree nearby is painted in oranges and browns and when did that happen? He appears to have missed it. The sky is clear with a round moon floating about, a few of the brighter stars keeping her company. Even on an autumn night like this the city is full of noise: cars are speeding past, sirens are blaring, people are laughing as they stumble back home from a party or some bar. It’s oddly calming listening to all the sounds while sitting up above them all, creating whole life stories for strangers that pass by whilst cradling a cup of warm tea in your hands. It is not, however, pleasant to have cigarette smoke blowing in your face even though it smells like cherries.

Phil looks down from his perch on the fire escape by his bedroom window. A story down a guy sits, his feet dangle from the ledge, eyes scanning the millions of lights of the city skyline. He’s faintly illuminated by the yellow glow coming from his room and Phil can only tell that he’s dressed in all black, has a mop of brown hair and a tattoo on his neck reaching higher than the collar of his leather jacket. Strangely enough, Phil doesn’t recognise him and he thought he knew everybody in his building. Being the friendly guy he is, Phil wants to maybe say hello to the guy, find out his name, why he’s sitting here at two a.m. slowly killing himself with cigarettes. But for some reason he doesn’t. And so they sit together but not exactly, watching night life go by, each lost in their own thoughts.

It’s been a week and like clockwork, the guy crawls through his window at one forty eight a.m., lights a cigarette and hums some song tapping on the metal rail as an accompaniment. Phil sits on a cushion on a step in only his underwear and a shirt, frowning because of the cherry smoke floating right up his nose, enjoying the unintentional entertainment, and thinking that he should really wear something warmer next time. Sipping at his tea, chamomile this time since it’s supposed to help you sleep, he creates a life story for the brown haired guy with a hidden tattoo. Every night it’s something different. Last night, for example, Phil thought about the guy being in some underground band that he’s never even heard of but that’s very popular among the guy’s crowd. Maybe he gets back after a concert at around this time and then reminisces about it sitting here and smoking. Or maybe he’s a lonely musician who struggles to get a job and stares out into the city creating songs but never writing them down and forgetting about them when the morning comes so the next night he comes back up here to try and recreate it but never succeeds. He could also be just a simple student who has too much work to do, too many exams to revise for, that he simply procrastinates by spending his time smoking on a fire escape. Tonight Phil’s back to the musician theory, he likes that one the best and it goes well with the guy’s need to constantly hum various tunes. Phil’s thinking that maybe the guy left a small town and came here to try and make it big but had no luck as of yet and is considering returning back with his tail between his legs, proving everyone right when they told him he couldn’t make it.

Phil bites his lip. That’s his story, however, and such a cliché. But who knows, the guy might be the same cliché. There are plenty of those in the city. He’s probably not though, Phil thinks. The guy seems too interesting to be sharing a similar story to Phil’s. So he tries to think up of something more wild, more suitable to the mysterious man Phil’s so intrigued by. All he can come up with is that maybe the guy’s an alien and this is some sort of experiment to see if he can infiltrate the human population and live on Earth as one of them. But that seems a tad unrealistic and Phil scraps the idea not able to muster up a better one for tonight.

***

Fridays are best for people watching, Phil decides. Everyone’s out having a good time, roaming the streets after a whole week of stress. They talk loudly, laugh, kiss in the middle of the road, glad that it’s the weekend and they won’t have to worry about anything for the upcoming two days. He’s staring at a couple under the tree that’s now completely drained of green. Phil knows he shouldn’t ogle at them drunkenly groping each other but he also can’t not look at them. They seem happy, giggling and murmuring to one another between the kisses; he can’t remember the last time he was this happy with anyone or just by himself. The couple leaves in a few minutes, fingers locked together, smiles on their faces. Phil’s attention returns to the stairs one story lower than his. The guy’s late. It’s already past two and his seat is empty. Phil has no idea why he feels a sudden pang of worry for him, he doesn’t even know his name for god’s sake.

Gnawing on his lip and nervously tapping on his cup, Phil tries to look straight ahead, scanning the buildings in the distance. The distraction doesn’t help much as he keeps leaning over the rail to see if the guy’s back. It’s ridiculous really, he should just go inside, where he wouldn’t be freezing his ass off, and forget about the whole situation, there’s nothing he can do anyway. However, just as he’s about to leave a voice stops him.

“Sorry that I’m late,” it sounds more soft and gentle than Phil would have thought. And a bit more posh.

“Excuse me?” Phil says, leaning over the rail, eyes for the first time meeting the guy’s about whom he’s been fantasising for nearly two weeks. The grin he receives is the most beautiful thing Phil’s seen, and  _oh my god he’s got dimples!_

“Got held up at work,” the guy explains. “Hope you didn’t worry too much,” he gets a cigarette out and lights it.

“I… what?.. no, I don’t even…” Phil stutters, cheeks turning red. He never even anticipated that the guy has also noticed him.

There’s silence after that as Phil tries to pretend he’s busy drinking his tea and the guy puffs out a few smokes. This can’t be it, Phil thinks, this’ll be their whole conversation? He has to do something, say something.

“Maybe you wanna join me?” Phil asks. That’s just a simple question, right? It doesn’t imply anything, it’s just a friendly gesture. But why is he so nervous to hear the answer?

“Thought you’d never ask,” the guy responds and after a few seconds he’s sitting cross-legged in front of Phil and Phil can see that his eyes are rich brown, swirling dark abyss.

“Cushion?” Phil wonders distractedly as he reaches through the window and offers him a pink one. The guy shrugs and takes it, sitting a bit taller. “I’m Phil, by the way,” he introduces.

“Nice boxers, Phil,” the guy smirks, his head is slightly tilted as he’s looking Phil up and down. Now Phil’s feeling rather self-conscious and damn him for never remembering to put on some jeans. “I’m Dan,” he extends his hand and Phil shakes it.

“Want some tea?” Phil offers, not really knowing what else to say or do; besides, he’d gladly take the opportunity to duck inside and dress more appropriately.

“Sure,” Dan answers, shaking ashes from his cigarette. He takes Phil’s cup and takes a sip, Phil doesn’t even have time to explain that he didn’t offer his particular cup and rather wanted to make Dan his own drink. “You like this?” The brunet questions, frowning as he gives the mug back, their fingers brush together and Phil notices how unexpectedly warm Dan’s skin is.

“Not really,” Phil responds, gnawing on his lip, staring out into the city and trying to avoid Dan’s extremely distracting gaze. “It’s supposed to help me relax and sleep better; hasn’t worked yet.”

“What keeps you up?” Dan’s tone changes slightly and Phil has to glance at him. Their eyes lock for a second. Dan looks almost…worried? Sympathetic? Phil can’t tell.

“Nothing major,” Phil shrugs, lifting a corner of his lips. “Just that I can’t get a job, my savings are about to run out, I’ll have to go back home where everyone will tell me ‘I told you so’ cos I never actually became a published author which is what I came here to do.” Dan mimics his sad half-smile. “Most importantly though, whether aliens exist and if so then why haven’t they contacted us yet?” At that Dan’s smile turns into a more genuine one. “What about you?” Phil sips at his tea, it’s a blend of several herbs that don’t do jack.

“Well,” Dan starts, putting out the cigarette, “I do have a job, it’s pretty shit. My dreams aren’t becoming reality either. And I have zero savings and live from pay check to pay check.”

“Yeah, it’s great being an adult,” Phil nods his head a few times and they both laugh at their own misery.

“Also, aliens do exist and they probably have contacted us but the government is covering it up,” Dan adds after a moment and Phil smiles at him.

They fall silent then. Dan’s tapping a tune on his shin, head turned right, to the city. Phil studies his profile for a while: the fringe so similar to Phil’s, the round cheeks, the soft curve of his jawline. His eyes trail to Dan’s neck, curious to know what the tattoo looks like and if it means anything.

“What are you thinking about?” Phil whispers, wanting to reach out and smooth the worry lines on Dan’s forehead and make him laugh instead to see if he crinkles his eyes.

“How can you get recognised doing something you love when countless others are doing the same and better?” He turns to Phil; lashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones, one of them rests right above the corner of his lips.

“You keep trying, I guess,” is all Phil can answer.

“Are you?” Dan wonders.

Phil smiles. Apparently, Dan knows a beaten case when he sees one. It’s true, Phil hasn’t written in months and the stories he does create live only in his head, unfinished and too awful to even think about writing them out. The ones he has completed and is happy with have been sent to numerous publishers, none of whom even had the courtesy to write him back telling him why his writing sucks.

“You caught me,” he says. The lash annoys him and he leans forward just a bit, running his fingertips over Dan’s cheek. The brunet raises an eyebrow but his smile is an amused one. Phil blushes at his own actions and clears his throat. “And what about you? You play something, right?” Phil glances at Dan’s tapping fingers and the brunet smirks.

“Yeah, I do,” he nods. “Piano. Had all of one gig this month,” he mock brags.

“Wow,” Phil says faux impressed. “Who would even need more? And you’re saying your dreams aren’t coming true,” he shakes his head.

“I know, it’s like what else could you want?” Dan agrees. “A non-paid two hour concert for people who don’t even care, that’s the dream, isn’t it?” They smile at each other and burst into giggles.

The night draws on. Phil doesn’t even notice as the clock on his wall strikes four a.m. The conversation with Dan flows freely and the silences don’t feel uncomfortable at all. They joke and share their experiences in the city, the darkness makes it easy for them to tell each other things they wouldn’t think of telling a living soul. For the first time in years Phil has someone he connects to, someone who understands him, who can make light of his awful situation and advise him how to deal with it. It’s truly magnificent.

The whole magic goes away, however, when Dan thinks he can outdo Phil when making puns. It starts quite innocently: they’re conversing about plants when Phil mentions that he’s obsessed with them but can’t really keep them alive for long. From there they move on to flower talk and Phil wonders if Dan’s favourites are dandelions. The brunet rolls his eyes and Phil says he’s welcome to try and one up him. Dan doesn’t shy away from the challenge and they go telling jokes back and forth.

“I have the heart of a lion and a lifelong ban from the San Diego Zoo,” Dan smirks at Phil, wind rustles his dark hair and Phil’s overcome with a sudden urge to run his fingers through Dan’s locks himself.

“Sometimes I tuck my knees into my chest and lean forward. That’s just how I roll,” Phil says instead of giving into his desires.

Dan gets stuck for a second. He chews on his lip, fingers once again drumming. A glance at the city allows Phil to admire him freely without the fear of being caught.

“What did the orphan say to the other orphan? ‘Robin, get in the Batmobile’,” Dan turns back, a corner of his lips turned up.

“You heard the rumour going around about butter? Never mind, I shouldn’t spread it,” Phil responds instantly and Dan purses his lips. The brunet’s eyes dart around, looking for inspiration but he finds none.

“Alright, I’m out, you win,” he declares with an exasperated sigh, throwing his arms up in the air.

“I told you that you can’t beat me. People never listen,” Phil shakes his head.

“I demand a rematch,” Dan pouts.

“Whenever, wherever,” Phil grins at him.

“Deal,” the brunet brightens up a bit. “But I should really go now, I have another shift in like three hours,” he groans.

“Is it already five?” Phil’s eyebrows shoot up as he notices the neon glowing numbers on his bedside clock. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Dan adds, gazing at the other with the strangest expression of near fondness if Phil’s correct. “Can I walk you home?” He asks standing up.

“I don’t know,” Phil gets up too. “It’s rather far and out of your way.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Dan smiles, breaking the charade and Phil smiles in response.

They step closer to the window, throwing the cushions in. Phil’s got one foot on the windowsill, a teacup in his hands, Dan’s leaning on the wall next to the window; despite the obvious need for them to go home, neither wants to.

“This was fun,” Dan comments.

“Yeah,” Phil nods.

They’re silent then; eyes darting all over each other, hesitating, exchanging shy smiles all of a sudden. Dan licks his lips, Phil’s eyes follow the movement. He doesn’t even notice when he leans in or when Dan steps closer. It’s a split second decision and Dan’s lips are on Phil’s. It’s quick and soft, just a peck, which proves that Dan’s not as confident as he wants Phil to believe he is. But as the brunet is about to pull away, Phil’s free hand flies to the nape of his neck, keeping him in place for a few more precious seconds. Dan’s fingertips land lightly on Phil’s hip, drawing him near. There’s nothing urgent or extremely passionate about it. The kiss burns with the cautiousness of first time, flutters carefully, timidly with the newly discovered adoration. They have all the time in the world and can allow themselves the luxury of enjoying this bit by bit.

Dan bites his lip, smiling, as he gazes into Phil’s eyes. Phil can’t stop himself from tracing his fingertips over Dan’s neck, his jawline and ghosting them over his bottom lip. It’s extremely intimate and Phil wants it to last a lifetime. The spell’s broken by a passing police car with a blaring siren.

“Our second date should be somewhere more romantic,” Dan says as he’s stepping away, fingers locked with Phil’s, both of their arms outstretched to last the contact longer.

“Second date?” Phil raises his eyebrows. “When did we have our first one?” He wonders with a smile.

“Like now,” Dan rolls his eyes. “Keep up, Phil. We had some drinks, we talked about serious things, we joked, I walked you back home, I kissed you goodnight,” he reminds the other.

“Yeah, of course, how could I have thought this wasn’t a date,” Phil grins. “Next time, though, tell me in advance when we’re having a date so that I’d dress nicer,” he makes a face, looking at his red boxers.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dan’s eyes flit over Phil’s frame. “I’m quite liking this look. You know, revealing but also keeping some things a mystery.”

Phil glares at him, snatching his hand away and Dan laughs.

“See you tomorrow,” the brunet half says and half questions, lingering and waiting for confirmation; truly not as sure of himself as he pretends, it makes Phil feel a little better, knowing he’s not the only one fretting to ruin whatever they started tonight.

“Tomorrow,” Phil nods.

This autumn explodes on your tongue in herbal tea and cherry smoke and insomnia, torrents gentle touches and bubbles laughter on your skin, resounds with sweet words and whispered admissions, overwhelms with all the bright hues of happiness and love, envelops in safety, promising a deeply desired future. It’s never-ending and everlasting. It’s immortalised in polaroids and engraved into memories. It’s filled to the brim with dreams, sighs of pleasure, midnight conversations lasting till sunrise, tickle fights leaving you breathless, blanket forts illuminated by fairy lights. This autumn brings about all the clichés: fluttering hearts, rosy cheeks, butterflies in stomachs. Later it all settles down into the lovely feelings of security, comfort and understanding, serenity engulfing you in waves at the sight of him. 

And then comes winter, stealing it all away, clawing it out with icy fingers, leaving two hollow bleeding and broken shells echoing with every gust of the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> Puns are totally not mine, found them floating around tumblr.


End file.
